Quiet Scenes from A Quiet Life
by ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: Quiet scenes we were never privy to in the evolution of Lucien & Jean's relationship.
1. Suffer Indeed

Quand on est aimé, on ne doute de rien. Quand on aime, on doute de tout. / When you're loved, you doubt nothing. When you love, you doubt everything.  
\- Colette.

* * *

For someone so brilliant, Lucien Blake was… well, she had always taught her sons it wasn't polite to call someone stupid.

She sometimes wonders if he is blind and doesn't see what lingers on the edges between them, or if he just chooses not to acknowledge it. She can't imagine he's truly that dim, except… She turns in her bed and attempts to fluff her pillow into submission. She never had this much trouble with her pillows at home, did she? She wonders as she tries to find the comfort that eludes her.

There's something growing slow and steady and as sure as a heartbeat between them, despite her best efforts tamp down upon it. Truth be told, perhaps it hasn't been her best efforts. Perhaps she's allowed it to grow - fed and nurtured by thinking about him at these quiet moments at the end of the day. Reviewing and cataloging their interactions, their looks, their exchanges as carefully as if it were evidence in one of his cases. Perhaps, somewhere deep, deep down she has nurtured and even encouraged it. What it is, however, she cannot bring herself to say. Even thinking the word makes her throat swell shut and her heart race.

It's foolish.

She's foolish. Lucien will never see her in this way and…another chance isn't for her. People like her don't get second chances. No, they get quiet lives and numerous hobbies. She takes a deep breath and turns on her back, gazing up at the ceiling. This room is unfamiliar compared to the one she spent the last years in. That was her room and at some point it became her home and if even if Lucien never looks at her again, if he never sees her as someone or something other than Jean Beazley, bringer of tea and whiskey, all she wants is to go back to her house once Ruby and Christopher find their footing as parents.

Mattie had told her Lucien missed her. Of course he missed her - life changed for him when she left and he was a man who didn't enjoy having his way of life disrupted. She needed him to … she doesn't know what she needs from him, not really, other than she needs him to see her. Really and truly see her. She knows he sees her as something other than Mrs. Beazley, that much has become obvious, but he still doesn't see her, doesn't see what was directly before him and so she has to leave. It wouldn't do to sit him down and discuss this over scones and tea in her room as casually as they discussed murder and motives. She wishes she could lay out proof and incidences and examples - evidence of their evolution - but she can't. He has to discover this one on her own as she did. Lucien has to discover these things himself. She needs him to make whatever decision on his own. She has made life easy for him, too easy, under the guise of her role as housekeeper and helpmate - she now needs him struggle on this one on his own. She needs to know that he sees her, that he chooses her. She wants to know he's choosing, not settling for her, not taking the easy route she offers with her presence.

That's what it keeps coming down to, isn't it? She can see him look at her, peer at her like she's a puzzle, like he's trying to solve her, like there's something he wants to say but he doesn't quite know what… But he doesn't see her, not as a woman. Not as she sees him - a man. A dear, sweet, caring, brilliant, broken, wounded, loving, daft man. She can pinpoint the exact moment she saw him as he was - eyes blinking back surprise as she peered at him from the flames of her birthday candles. Her birthday - she can still feel the shiver in her belly if she thinks about her birthday, his arms around her, her hand on his, the warmth of him against her back. It happened so naturally and so instinctively that it terrified her. There, in front of family and friends, he wrapped his arms around her and she let him as if they had done it hundreds of times. Yes, he's an affectionate man but she has never been particularly fond of affection, or perhaps she had just gone without it for so long?

Her thoughts are getting lost in one another and the lingering pull in her belly confuses and upsets her. She squeezes her eyes shut and turns once more onto her side, willing herself to go to sleep.

There is nothing more that she can do except board the bus tomorrow.


	2. Graceless

They sit on the balcony of Lucien's hotel room watching the city become bathed in the dusky twilight of night.

There aren't many people - man or woman - who could match Lucien Blake drink for drink.

Certainly not Jean Beazley, though she did give it her very best try. That's how she did everything - to the very best of her ability. If you were going to do something, she had taught her children, you do it as well as you can. Which is how she found herself beside Lucien on the settee on the balcony, her bare knees pressed against his slacks.

The distance that had previously existed between them when they were alone - silent and vast - is gone, aided in no small part by three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey. "I'm going to miss this." He sighs, taking her hand in his. They both know he means he's going to miss her when he leaves tomorrow morning. "I'll be back soon enough." She says softly.  
"You think?"  
"Yes. Ruby's taken to motherhood better than I think any of us thought. Some women are like that I suppose."  
"Were you?"  
"I didn't have a choice, we didn't have anyone."  
"No, I suppose not." He raises his arm and wordlessly she curls herself against him, resting her hand upon his heart, her head upon his shoulder - his proud, strong Jean. "Do you think it'll be like this if you come back?"  
"With Mattie and Charlie in the house? I doubt it."  
"Oh."  
"But it might force us to be creative." She tilts her head up to smile to him, a devious little grin he's come to know well.  
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." He replies, his gaze dropping from her face to her lips. He's desperate to kiss her, but is afraid of moving too fast, too much and frightening her away. He's a little at a loss at how this happened, how she went from Mrs. Beazley to Jean, but he's incredibly pleased it's happened. "Jean, when did you know? About us, I mean."  
"Lucien, what a ridiculous question!" She laughs, curling up against him once more.  
"I don't think it is. 'For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?' Or something to that extent."  
"I don't know. You disappeared to China without a word."  
"I wrote."  
"It's not the same, is it?" She asks, and he knows her well enough to know she doesn't actually expect an answer. "I understand why you did it -"  
"Do you?"  
"I do, but it hurt. And that was the first sign - it shouldn't have hurt."  
"I'm sorry Jean." He drops a kiss on the crown of her head, moving one of his hands to cover one of hers.  
"There's nothing to be sorry about, Lucien. It's just what it was. One day the phone rang and you were in Melbourne and my heart just… . All I could do was think about how you were coming back and that I hadn't lost you - I don't know why but I kept thinking that - that I lost you. I didn't even like you -"  
"Well that's just touching." He laughs, raising her hand to his lips and placing a quick peck on her wrist, very aware of the racing of her pulse.  
"Well, we're being honest, aren't we?" She teases. "You got off the bus and it was like seeing you for the first time, but not, because you were so familiar. And then there was Mrs. MacDonald and the way you smiled at her." Jean's voice changes slightly, her head shifts so she can look out at Adelaide in the night. It had gotten so dark around them. What time was it she wondered.  
"Jean."  
"Lucien, it's fine. She made you happy, there's no point in denying it. Let's do her memory that service, shall we?"  
"That's when you knew?" He changes the topic, not wanting to talk about Joy. He doesn't know what to say, other than he doesn't know what would've happen if Joy were still alive. Would he be here with her instead?  
"No, not really - looking back, that's when I would say it started. I knew on my birthday."  
"Your birthday?" He tries to remember what she could mean, but can't quite recall a specific moment or act.  
"Yes. Goodness," She looks at her wristwatch. "I should get back." She untangles herself from Lucien and rises, walking behind the settee before stopping and taking one last look at the view from his room. "It, it may seem morbid, but some times - often times - I wonder if you would've ever noticed me if she was still alive."  
"Jean -" He rises and crosses to her. "I -"  
"No, Lucien. Don't say something you may not mean." She has made it to the door before she feels his hand gently upon her wrist, causing her to stop. He steps closer to her, the heat from his body making her skin tingle with excitement. The acts between a man and a woman are no mystery to her, but she is hard pressed to recall the last time she had a strong sense of desire for another person like she does for Lucien. She feels his hand ghost along her neck, she doesn't move as she hears him whisper "Please." before he places a soft kiss along the nape. Her hand finds his and grasps it for dear life as she squeezes her eyes shut. "I mean it, Jean." He murmurs against her ear before he steps back and she releases his hand, feeling the blood start to flow through her body once more. "Have a safe trip Lucien." She finally speaks, proud she isn't stumbling over her words between the whiskey and the kiss.  
"I'll see you soon." And with a parting look between them, she leaves his room, her heart already aching at not being able to stay with him.

Lucien stays rooted to the floor long after he can no longer hear her footsteps down the hall. Somehow he finds himself back on the balcony, finishing his drink. He finds that Jean Beazley, slight and simple, can scorch him as easily as the sun. Sometimes the heat when she looks at him is infinite white hot flames and sometimes it's cold and as brittle as ice. He finds he has to look down at his sleeve to make sure there's no burn marks when she takes his arm as they walk in the streets. He knows it's improper, but he's waiting for the day when he can feel her hand on his body, on his skin. Fire being the the most natural of purifiers. He was struck this morning by the desire to wake up beside her. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is in the morning light, and watch her laugh at him, but curl into him to hide her blush and to tear off that silly net from her hair and burn that awful pink robe. How he longs to see her hair undone and know it's because of him. He has an undignified urge to make Jean his - mark her as his with his kisses and his name.

How did this happen? When he would hear his father mention Mrs. Beazley, or when he was ill enough that she started writing his letters for him, did he know she would become…Jean. His Jean? He's at a loss for the moment he fell in love with her. A consequence of being too lost in his head and his own pain. It seems at times that he was always in love with her - if that makes sense. It was as if little by little she shone through and illuminated every crack in his soul and revealed everything to the light. It wasn't always pretty, and it wasn't always pleasant - at times it was down right painful, but it was real and true and that was the most important thing. He can remember her in a green dress, and despite being preoccupied by some case or another, he remembers how tight it was, registering for the first time that she was a woman. A silly observation, yes, but an apt one. Of course he knew she was a female, but it wasn't until seeing her in that dress did he realize she was a Woman as well as female, a pretty one at that.

He is fully aware that he doesn't notice all the things she does for him. Not her job, but what Jean does for Lucien. Sometimes he wonders if it's right, loving Jean as he does. She deserves someone who will treat her as she treats him - and he is aware that no matter how hard he tries, that will never be him. He will always be late for dinner and make a mess and hurt others - casually and accidentally - but he knows she is aware it is never deliberately. He knows life will always be hard for Jean with him, or harder than it needs to be than if she settled down with some nice man from Ballerat. He has wondered, after being woken from his terrors some nights by her cool voice calming him, her cool hand combing through his hair, her cool eyes watching him, what sort of guilt she must hold within herself to believe she needs to carry out this penance. She's not the only one to have cause to wonder about their love.


	3. And When You're Ready

**AN:** Set directly after the end of 408... Do I even need to remind you what happened at the end of 408?

* * *

She turns on her heel and hurries into the house.

"Jean, please!" Blake heads in after her, catching up to her as they cross the threshold and lets the door slam. "Jean!" He grasps her wrist, pulling her towards him, her free hand bracing herself against his chest.

"Don't, Lucien. Don't." Her voice drops to a harsh and ragged growl, eyes narrowing with pain. "You can't - you can't just expect us to…" And suddenly he finds her pressing her lips against his again, kissing him once more. He wraps his free arm around her slim waist, pulling her closer to him. He's missed her, her touch, her feel, her smile, he's missed her. "You can't, Lucien." She whispers over and over again as she moves her head back, giving Lucien access to her neck, her jaw, the hollow notch at the base of her throat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats over and over, each kiss an apology, each word a salve to the pain and anguish he's caused her over the last few weeks.

Eventually their words die down and they're left clinging to each other. He can feel her body wracking with silent tears against his and he knows he will spend the rest of his life trying to erase this from their history. He murmurs platitudes in her ear, stroking her hair slowly until he can feel the jerking movements subside, hear a sniffle against his woollen suit. She finally stiffens against him and pulls herself away, offering up a watery smile he's seen too often as of late. "Tea," She offers. "I'll make us some tea." And with that she moves towards the kitchen and he swears there's an extra sway in her hips he hasn't seen in far too long. "Jean," He follows her, watching as she moves about the kitchen setting the kettle on the stove, biscuits on the plate, cups on the table. "We need to talk."  
"I suppose."  
"I don't regret Mei Lin."  
"Lucien, no - I would never- "  
"I know you wouldn't Jean, I know. But I regret how I handled, oh, the whole bloody thing." He moves his hand to his eyes and squeezes shut. "Perhaps…no."  
"Perhaps what?"  
"We - we've never spoken, Jean. Not really, about…well, about us."  
"No, I don't suppose we have."  
"Perhaps we can start now?" He steps closer to her, slowly, careful to note she doesn't move away from him. "Please Jean."  
"Lucien, we're both exhausted." She sidesteps around him and takes the whistling kettle off the stove and fills the pot.  
"Jean," He absently pats the pocket of his waistcoat, confirming the small box is still there. "I don't want anything like this to happen again."  
"Is it likely to?" She asks, eyes flashing.  
"Right…"He can't tell if she's joking or not. "Please Jean."  
"Hand me that tray then Lucien." She nods behind him. "If we're going to have this conversation, I'm not going to risk it in here with that phone." She begins to load up the tray with their tea. "And you can go get yourself something stronger. I think in light of the last few weeks, we'll both need it."

He joins her outside, a blanket spread on the grass beneath the shade of the large tree he used to play in as a child. The one Lei will never play under. The tea is poured but she waits for him to settle down beside her, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her legs tucked to one side. He pours out a glass of whiskey for each of them and hands one to her, watching as she neatly downs the whole measure. "Jean, you know…"  
"Know what?"  
"Well, how I feel about you. Don't you?" He peers at her shyly. How does this woman do this to him? Reduce him to a nervous adolescent.  
"No Lucien, I don't. How can I when you never tell me." She looks away from him, off towards the greenhouse. She's forgotten to water her plants today and she'll have to do it before dinner. "All I have are half thoughts. Suspicions, but nothing concrete. Nothing certain."  
"Jean-"  
"We don't all live in our heads, Lucien. We're not all clever like you. Some of us live here-" She clenches her fist tightly, "In the real world."

His heart break at her words. The last few weeks have cost them all so much. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to marry Jean, and they would travel, and they would always come home to Ballarat and they would just be together and after the the lives they'd had so far, that would be enough. "Do you remember Adelaide?" He asks, taking a sip from his own glass.  
"Mmmmmm."  
"It was the happiest I'd been in a very long time, Jean. I…" He sighs, taking the ring box from his pocket and placing it on the blanket between them, watching her eyes dart nervously from it to him then down to an empty patch of blanket. "When you came back, I knew that - well that I wanted to marry you. I knew it the moment I left you that I didn't want to leave you again. I didn't think I would ever find someone who… well someone like you. I couldn't wait to ask you. Life can change in a moment, Jean -" He sees her eyes flash at him and he continues quickly. "I know you know that as much as anyone else. The thing is, if we know that, and we find happiness, why postpone it? I want to marry you Jean, even more now than before." He sees her hands tighten around each other, her eyes lower, "I'm sorry, so incredibly sorry for everything that you've gone through. I should've been better, or stronger. Please?"  
"Lucien, I thank you for asking. But," She lifts her eyes skyward, trying to rid them of the tears threatening to spill. "You're still married. Mei Lin is still your wife and Lucien, this is becoming cruel."  
"Mei Lin has consented to a divorce." He shifts, facing her, taking her hands in his.  
"Lucien -"  
"It was her idea."  
"It doesn't matter, Lucien." She slips a hand from his grasp and picks up the ring box, "She's alive and as far as the Church goes, she's your wife." She tucks the box back into his pocket, patting it carefully. "For what it's worth - thank you for asking me."  
"Bugger the Church, Jean."  
"Lucien!"  
"I mean it. If I need to get an annulment, or if I need to leave, I will. I love you and I will ask you every day until you say yes." He takes the box and puts it in her hands. "Just think about it." She doesn't speak. She doesn't move. He's stated his case, he's made his plea, and the decision now remains with her. They've never spoken of love. They've always danced around the actual word, Jean cutting him off every time she saw him bracing himself to use it. He shifts once more, lying on his back, leaning his head against her lower thighs, aware of the intimacy of this position. "Remember our picnic in Adelaide?" He asks, forcing his voice into a jolly tone.  
"I thought it was very forward of you, laying on me like this." She replies quietly, smiling down.  
"Yes, well, you didn't tell me off though."  
"How could I when you quoted, what was it, Shakespeare to me?" She smiles at the thought as she absently places a hand on his chest.  
"'I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes'. Do you think we can hide here, just for today?"  
"We can't hide from God, Lucien." He takes her hand and slowly raises it to his lips before returning it back to where it was. He watches her as she leans against the trunk and take a sip of her tea, now gone cold. He knows how much she despises tepid tea and tries not to smile at her grimace. He felt he could watch her for hours and not get his fill. While struck in that cell, desperate for distraction, he tried to recall her in his mind. Avian was the word that came to mind then - birdlike. Eyes like a hawk, missing nothing when it came to those around her. Head moving in distinct movements, darting over every inch of him whenever they meet once more - is he alive, is he sober, is he injured, is here with her - really and truly here - or is he somewhere far, far away where not even she can reach him?

"Lucien, stop looking at me like that." She requests, his scrutiny something she's too exhausted to deal with. As much as she loves him, and she does, more than she thought possible, the weight and the responsibility is heavy and there are times she wishes she can remove it from herself just give herself a moment to breathe. She is torn between wanting to file every rough edge off Lucien to keep from his damaging others, snagging on the smoothness of the world around them and wrapping herself around every sharp corner of Lucien to protect him from himself. She hears him at night - not just the nightmares that have begun once more since his stay in the jail - she knows now how to deal with them and she is no stranger to rising at night to make sure her family is safe. It's the nights where he tries to be quiet that are the worst. Loud, dull thuds followed by soft curses, the sharp tones of glass on glass. Of hearing him walk towards her room, of seeing his shadow against the glass of her bedroom door, of lying there heart racing and breath held to stop herself from calling out, calling him in to lay in her bed, her head on his shoulder. To allow themselves the deep, dark sleep that is only achieved in another's warm arms when heartbeats slow together. It's been so long since she's slept that particular kind of sleep and she's so very tired. She closes her eyes and swallows, trying to tamp down the tug of desire in her body. It grows stronger every day and she's uncertain how much longer she can ignore it. As if he can feel it course through her, Lucien takes her hand and places another gentle kiss on the curled fingers before placing it over his heart.


	4. What Comes After This

She nervously smooths her hand over the stiff lace of her dress skirt. She's worried it's too much, too extravagant. Lucien, ever the excited groom, had said it was her choice and that he'd marry her in that awful pink robe or her beige cardigan she wears around the house. She knows he means it, but she wants to look her best today. She wants others to see her the way she wants him to see her, and maybe then it will stop their gossip and their whispers. Maybe then it will convince them that he loves her, really and truly. If she can convince them, maybe she can convince herself. She doesn't doubt his claims so much as knows Lucien's penchant for throwing himself headfirst into overcoming a challenge. Now that the divorce is obtained and they're to be wed, she wonders how much longer he will be enticed enough to stay. She doesn't doubt her own love for him. Even if she had moved to Adelaide after Mei Lin's arrival, she would love him, quietly and surely. She would close her eyes at night and imagine his wrinkled shirtsleeves, the empty bottles, the twinkle in his eyes as he moved towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She would imagine burying her face in the scruff of his neck like she had imagined before, but she would know now what it was like - she would be able to recall that it would be smoother in the morning and smelling of Barbasol and it would be rougher at night, smelling more like…him. Soap and sweat.

How different he smelled from Christopher. Christopher had the tang of earth on him, metallic and all encompassing. It used to linger behind after he left a room. Perhaps it was why she took to gardening when he left for war, a way to keep him near her. She finds she's thinking a lot about Christopher. He would hate Lucien. It wasn't that she was moving on, or remarrying - Christopher was always a pragmatist in that way and wouldn't be bothered by that. No, he would hate Lucien. His smile, his waistcoat, his indecision, his charm. Christopher liked plain people who knew themselves. Christopher knew himself. But Christopher is dead and she is not. She's alive. She suspects Lucien is thinking of Mei Lin, who had written them a letter, short but honest - wishing them luck.

She runs her hands over the stiff lace once more, a nervous habit. She wishes Mattie was here - despite their ages, Jean had come to see her as a dear friend. They wrote to her, but knew the letter would get to her after they had left for their bridal trip. As it is, she's preparing on her own in her bedroom, knowing that this is the last time it will be her bedroom. The next time she's back in this house, she'll live in Lucien's room. A thrill runs through her at the thought despite her fears. A knock at her door and Charlie lets her know he's placed her bags in the boot of the police car. "I'll be right down Charlie!" She calls, watching his shadow as it departs. They're to meet Lucien at City Hall where they'll get married quietly and then drive to Adelaide to see Christopher and his family before they depart on their bridal trip. Lucien hasn't told her where they're going - only insisting she get a passport and pack for a little bit of everything. A passport. She'd never had need for one before.

She takes a final look at herself - one last look at Jean Beazely before she becomes Mrs. Blake. Her dress is the color of the sky the moment the rain stop and the sun shines through - lace with silk trim. Long sleeves, nipped waist, flared skirt to the knee. Not to be vain, she thought she looked rather smart. No, better than smart, she corrected herself. She thought she looked rather pretty and she hoped Lucien thought so as well. She remembers mentioning she had started looking for her wedding suit and his comment about something bright, he had even suggested something like her emerald green dress and she had to wonder when he had ever seen her in that. Something had caught her eye when she was at the fabric store next purchasing the material for her wedding outfit and in a last moment impulse, she adds a small amount of silk in the emerald he mentioned.

With a decisive nod towards her reflection, she leaves her room, making a short detour to Lucien's room where she deposits her wedding gift on his beside table. It's small and simple, but she knew he would understand the meaning behind it.

She gathers her bouquet and heads out the door and into Charlie's waiting car.

The service is quick and small, but those who are there are their friends. Alice and Agnes, Rose & Charlie, Frank & Matthew, aided by a cane. No one brings up the fact it's not in a church, though Jean supposes out of the lot of them, she's the only one it bothers. It had taken three months of Lucien asking her to marry him for her to even consider a civil service. He had come home late, no one at the station knowing where he was when she called - when he finally arrived, dirty and dusty, his car having blown a tire during a house call, she flung herself into his arms. She had realized what he knew from the start of them, that they already acted as if they were married, she was already his partner and she didn't want to spend another day without him. In that moment she asked him to marry her, to ask her once more.

He doesn't share that story as they all share a drink at the Club afterwards, but he shares the story of Mr. Pig and half a dozen other moments, mundane to them but memorable in terms of their evolution. He is speaking to Agnes when he catches Alice and Jean laughing across the room and he can't help but smile, they are similar - smart and clever and incredibly independent. He can see their growing friendship to be the source of some discomfort for him down the road. How he's looking forward to this life. Looking forward to coming home and being with Jean. Life with Jean. Nothing exceptional - just together. Agnes has stopped speaking and is looking at him with a look of amusement. She kisses his cheek and tells him that that was how his father looked at his mother. She moves off towards Jean's direction and wishes the bride luck before she leaves, and with that, people start drifting out.

It's not long until Jean and Lucien are in their car, the bags in the boot, on their way to Adelaide. The drive is quiet, both wrapped in their own thoughts, their own feelings until Lucien guides the car off the road a few miles outside of the city. "Lucien?" She asks when she notes the car has slowed to a stop. "Do you realize," He begins, a boyish grin upon his face, "That it's been a whole three hours since I last kissed you?"  
"Lucien," She groans, "You're incorrigible."  
"Indeed." The grin becomes almost wolfish and she can't help but oblige, eager to be wrapped in his arms once more away from the prying eyes of their friends and well wishers. Neither of them are aware how long they spend there, only that they part when they reach the brink of heated passion. Lucien doesn't want their first time to be in the car like adolescents, but he's not opposed to it down the line… He navigates the car back on the road and suspects Jean is fully aware to the root of the look on his face.

It's about halfway to Adelaide when Jean finally falls asleep beside him and he can let his mind wander as he drives down the near empty road. Despite being on the road, there's an overwhelming sense of bourgeoisie domesticity that would've revolted his younger self. He'd been married before, but life abroad was very different - he and Mei Lin were young, wealthy enough and popular and for a while, life was one endless stream of parties and outings and friends and holidays. No wonder Mei Lin said he'd changed. Now the idea was exhausting - the idea of staying out away from the comforts of home and heart no longer appealed to him. Was it age or was it something else? Was he finally settled, not settling for less, but settled and rooted into something that could hold him? By all accounts, the woman beside him was nothing exceptional - and yet there was nothing he loved in the world so much as her - was that not strange? She stirs, opening her eyes briefly to smile at him before falling back asleep.


	5. Afraid I'll Disappear

AN: This is where things start getting a little more M... nothing too crazy, but a warning none-the-less.

* * *

They arrive at the hotel nearing midnight - it's a Saturday and the streets are still bustling but neither of them are interested in taking in the sights or joining the people. They quietly check in and are shown their room - a bottle of champagne on ice is already waiting for them and the doors to the balcony are thrown open, letting in the sound and the smell of the nearby ocean. They move around each other, already in tune with habits from years of living together. Lucien removes his waistcoat, his tie, his shoes and begins to pour out something to drink. Jean takes her overnight bag and with a quick squeeze of his arm in passing, moves to the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, he empties his glass and pours another one. He nervous, anxious, terrified - it's been a fairly long time for them both and he has to remind himself they have a whole lifetime together to get … this right. He turns off most of the lights and steps out on the balcony for some air - he loves the smell of the ocean. Knowing they have time does little to reduce his anxiety. He has wanted Jean for so long that now that the time has come… he's at a loss. He hopes Matthew was right when in his parting made a comment about marriage being just like getting back on a bike. Not that Jean's a - he hears the door from the washroom open and he turns around.

She emerges finally, barefoot in an emerald green slip of fabric.

"I know it's not traditional," She explains quietly, moving towards him, "But you said you liked the colour." She peers at him, nervously tugging at the hem, "You said it brought out my eyes. Lucien, what is it?"  
"Jean," He finally speaks, "Jean, Jean - you're a vision." He crosses the distance between them swiftly and pulls her to him, his hands crushing the delicate fabric.  
"Come off it Lucien," She blushes, trying to look away.  
"I mean it, you're beautiful like this- " He sweeps her up, bridal style and laughs as she shrieks from the unexpected movement, "And from this moment on I forbid clothes in the house!"  
"Put me down Lucien, put me down! You'll hurt yourself!"  
"Are you calling me old? Nonsense!" He moves them towards the bed, "But if you insist…" He gently places her on the bed and suddenly the moment becomes all too real. She slowly rises to her knees towards the edge of the bed, smiling softly at him. "Lucien."  
"Jean." They both know what comes next and playing coy doesn't suit them. With no further words, she's in his arms kissing him as eagerly as their first kiss in the driveway, except now there's no reason to pull away. Her hands find his buttons and begins to unbutton them as quickly as she can without having to pull away. He doesn't want to scare her, by God, does he want her. He frees his mouth and lightly drags his teeth down the muscles of her shoulder, nudging the strap of her slip down, growing bolder with every sound she makes. He shifts so he is behind her, his hands gliding over the smoothness of the silk, over the curve of her belly, the flare of her hips and the dip of her waist. He can hear her gasp sharply and his desire grows. Unlike the last time, the kiss he places upon the nape of her neck is firm and determined. He has grown enamoured of that spot - and though he'll feel ashamed of it in the light of morning, right now he cannot help himself - he wants to mark it, mark her in some small way as his. She is is wife. She is his partner. She is his. The thought is enough to make breathing difficult. In his fog, he feels her press against him and all hope of escape is lost.

Their first coupling is quick, eager, exploratory. They laugh shyly afterwards about how much more fitting it was for newlyweds half their age instead of a Doctor and his wife, both past the blush of first love. It doesn't stop them however, from spending the rest of the night eager to learn all they can about the other person.

Later, once Lucien has fallen asleep, an arm flung across her, drawing her close, does she have the upper hand to examine this man, her husband. She lets that word echo in her mind over and over and over again. She lets her fingers gently run over his back and his shoulders, careful not to wake him as she catalogues every scar he has upon his body - and there are so many. She doesn't want to linger on them, but she can't help it. They are a part of his body - a sign of his strength and his survival - they are a part of him to be admired. She blushes at how much there is to be admired. Intimacy is already a different act with Lucien than it was with Christopher and the thought alone makes her desire him more.

They wake up the next morning, blinking in the too-bright sunlight streaming in from the balcony doors, both deliciously sore in muscles that they had long since forgotten existed. It's late enough that they must hurry if they're going to make it to their own wedding breakfast on time and once more they fall into the familiar habit of moving around one another, as if they'd been doing it for years instead of hours. "Personally," Lucian begins, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder as he sets beside Jean in the mirror and begins to knot his tie, "I feel rather proud of myself that I was the reason the tireless Jean Blake slept in past sunrise."  
"Why am I not surprised you're proud of being such a bad influence?" She asks, turning around to fix his tie. Some of the the reserve has returned to her, but even the simple act of adjusting his collar reassures him.  
"It's hard for me not to be nervous when you are, Jean." He grins, taking her hand from his tie and kissing her wrist.  
"I'm sorry," She smiles weakly. "Don't be nervous."  
"Your family doesn't seem to be particularly fond of me."  
"I don't know, Amelia Jean seemed enchanted with you."  
"She's a baby."  
"Hmmmm, you're right. They aren't fond of you, but I am."  
"Good, that's all I need."  
"Zip me up?" She turns around to give him access to her back, her dress unzipped.  
"With pleasure."  
"Lucien…" She warns, unable to contain the smile that spread across her face.  
"You know you're in front of the mirror, Jean. I can see you grinning." With a slight tug, he runs the zipper up to her neck before he places a quick peck on the nape of her neck, blushing at the slight mark hidden just below her curls. "You know, a scarf would go lovely with this dress…"


	6. We Shall Meet In The Place

**AN:** There's mentions to both Cantonese  & Mandarin - given both China's complex history with borders and the Blake family's captivity within parts of Asia, I'm assuming they can speak enough of both to get by.

* * *

Her heart aches, when on their last night in Paris, he turns to her and asks if she'd be willing to travel to Hong Kong with him on their way home. How could she say no to this man, her husband, for a request as simple and heartfelt as this?

And so, they arrive in Hong Kong on a Wednesday, and it's on a Thursday that Jean stands nervously beside him, tugging at her sweater in nervousness. From across the lobby of the hotel, she spots them first, Mei Lin and a young woman, carrying a young child in her arms. "There she is." She whispers to him, raising a hand and waving to Lucien's first wife. Introductions are polite but earnest all around - with Mei Lin and Jean exchanging a brief hug. After a cup of tea, Jean excuses herself and leaves Lucien to his family, she's not upset when he simply accepts the gentle squeeze of his shoulder as she leaves, their conversation drifting from English to Mandarin.

She wanders about the markets, soaking it all in. She is in a market in Hong Kong - a life she hadn't even dreamt of - she revels in that thought as she pokes about the stalls, using the few words of Cantonese Lucien had taught her. She has seen Paris, London & Hong Kong - unimaginable to her when she was a young woman. She returns to the hotel when dusk begins to settle - she doesn't feel comfortable out in the alleys and the streets in the dark. She's never been a minority before - so clearly an outsider, it's a curious sensation. Lucien and his family are no longer in the lobby, but she's not surprised when their room is empty either. She calls down for a light supper of tea and toast and spends the night packing, and then settles on the balcony. The city is so alive at night, Lucien had warned her of that. He spoke about it with such longing and such detail that she wishes she could go out and enjoy it - but she's happy enough where she is, watching from a distance. As lovely as this trip has been, she's excited to return home. To see her own family. To tend to her plants. To begin life as Lucien's wife in their house, instead of on this endless holiday. She has loved every minute of it, but it's taught her who she is at her core. She suspects and hopes this won't be their last trip to Hong Kong - she prays for Lucien's sake that he and Lei, and yes, even Mei Lin, are able to forge some sort of relationship. Parents need their children as well - people forget that. There's always a raw and gaping emptiness inside parents parted from their children. She feels it for Christopher Jr and Jack - despite what they think, she can never love anything or anybody as much as she loves them. Perhaps that's why she understood Lucien's desire to visit Hong Kong and didn't begrudge her afternoon alone. Her eyes grow heavy and she doesn't understand why she's been so tired lately. She falls asleep before she can finish that thought.

It's almost dawn when Lucien returns to their hotel, a smile from ear-to-ear. He can't even recall what they spoke about, but they spoke for hours about anything and everything. There was a moment when he could swear Lei even looked at him like a daughter looks at her father - a mixture of love and amusement and exasperation. He bounds into the room, ignorant of the time, eager to share the night with Jean when he stops short, his heart growing fuller at the sight of her, curled up on the balcony seat in her familiar beige cardigan. "Jean?" He whispers, kneeling before her. "Let's get you to bed."  
"Lucien?" She wakes up slowly, a smile spreading across her face at his presence. "Did you have a good time?"  
"Yes - I'll tell you all about it in the morning."  
"Mmmmm…" He helps her up and guides her to their bed. He helps her out of her skirt and blouse, putting her to bed in just her slip, before he goes and hangs up both their outfits. "Are we coming back?" She asks, wrapping his arm around her waist when he finally joins her.  
"Would you mind terribly if we did?" The use of we doesn't escape him, even at this late hour.  
"Not at all." Despite the hour, despite their exhaustion - the kind that comes from the end of a long journey, they begin to move against each other and with each other, slowly and with ease, their bodies now familiar with each other.

It has taken them the whole of their trip for them to learn about this whole other side to their personalities. Jean has learned that Lucien is as generous with his affections in bed as he is out of bed. With her, in their bed, he can focus on only the two of them - free from every other distraction or demand. She learns that making love, for Lucien, is almost meditative. A way to shut out the world and the noise and simply exist with her. She has learned that this is the one place she can command the whole of his attention and she revels and delights in being his quiet harbour in the storm of his mind.

Lucien, for his part, discovered Jean craves affection. She doesn't know or realize it, but her body leans to him, fits to him, stretches and grasps and demands his. He supposes, if he thinks about it, that it comes from years of her being self-sufficient and of going without and he vows she will never go without again. He discovered her cautious nature doesn't apply to their marital acts and that he doesn't have to temper his desire for his wife. He discovered despite everything, he loves it the best when he wraps his arms around her slim frame and she buries her face in his chest. Their movements small, their words lost to one another but felt and heard and understood none-the-less. This is his Jean and it's in these moments he knows he will stop at nothing to keep her safe. Keep her loved.

With that they both fall asleep as the dawn's blue begins to brighten their room.


	7. Take Me Home

Their conversation dies off as the get closer and closer to Ballarat and the car is soon filled with a nervous energy that they can't dispel. They landed in Adelaide the previous night and spent the morning with Christopher and his family before setting forth back home where they found themselves in there current state. This time around, Lucien couldn't help but hold baby Amelia a little closer, realizing he would never get to do so with Lei's own child, and he can tell, just by the look she gives him, Jean knows this and so she allows him time when they leave to just be silent on the road. How does this woman know him better than he knows himself? How is she constantly two steps ahead of him? He wishes he could find the words to tell her it's not what might have been that he's thinking about but more what he's lucky to have, what had to happen to allow their paths to cross and gather where they did.

"Lucien?" She takes his hand in his. "Lucien, we're here."  
"So we are." He blinks and realizes somehow he's pulled up to the drive and turned off the engine. He rallies, tucking these thoughts away for a later time. "Ready Mrs. Blake?" He hops out of the car and races to her door to help her out, an unexpected act of gallantry. "Do you know this will be the first time we'll be alone in the house, our house, as man and wife?"  
"Yes, I suppose."  
"And do you know what that means?"  
"Well," She straightens his tie to distract her from the memories and the desire rising within her. "After the last two months Lucien, yes, I can hazard a guess."  
"Wicked woman." He grins, placing a hand lightly on her waist. "For once, that's not what I was thinking about."  
"Oh really?" She smirks at him, not believing him for a moment.  
"Not entirely anyways. It's tradition for the bridegroom to carry his blushing bride-"  
"Lucien…" She warns, trying to step away but trapped between his body and the car. "No."  
"Over the threshold, so upsy-daisy!" He picks her up and slings her over his shoulder. "We don't want to break tradition, do we?"  
"Put me down Lucien, put me down this instant!" She struggles against him as he opens the door and carries her to the couch where he gently deposits her. "Lucien, you are never, ever doing that again."  
"Well of course not. It's for newlyweds." He places his forehead against hers, he has come to find he loves looking at her, loves watching her watch him, trying to solve him, figuring him out. He moves to kiss her when she shifts her head. "I should get to the shops before dinner." The spell of joy broken, the mood changed.  
"Let's skip dinner. I'm not hungry, are you?"  
"No, but you'll want breakfast and I suspect there's nothing in the fridge." She doesn't want to leave this, their little world for the gossip of the outside world. For some, it would be the scandal of his marrying his housekeeper - someone from such a different station than him. For some, their wedding, outside of the Church, was as good as non-existent. For some, she'll forever be nothing more than his mistress - her decades of work and service being erased. For some… Her heart twists.  
"May I come in?" There's a knock on the wall and Charlie waits before entering.  
"Come in, Charlie. No need to ask." They straighten their clothes as they stand and greet the young man standing awkwardly.  
"Well it never hurts to check with newlyweds and all that." He ducks his head as Jean, then Lucien embrace him.  
"We're hardly children Charlie." Jean chides him, squeezing his hand.  
"Still." He shrugs. "I ah, wasn't sure about when you'd be coming, but I've picked up a few things from the market. Enough for breakfast at least."  
"Charlie." Jean is touched by his gesture. He's heard the gossip about her, she's all but certain of it. He's more aware of others, more sensitive than most men. "Yes, well, I ah, am out with Rose tonight - late film, so… So I'll see you both tomorrow." He leans over and kisses her cheek. "Welcome home." He leaves the house and they stay rooted where they stand until they can no longer hear his bike on the gravel of the drive. It's just Jean and Lucien now - not Doctor and Mrs. Blake - if she doesn't want to let the outside world in, she realizes she must gather the strength to withstand it herself. She made the choice to marry her lover with full knowledge that it wouldn't be easy but it would be worth it. She does not regret it, not a moment of it. She doubts if she ever will. "Lucien, take me to bed." She turns her head to look at him.  
"Now?"  
"I'm inexplicably tired." She looks up at him through her lashes. She wants this feeling of the world being as small and as encompassing as the two of them to last for one more day. She wants her life as Jean to be her life as Mrs. Blake and for it to start now. She wants to know he loves her, he wants her, he married her. She wants to be able to hold onto this memory of their love when she walks head high at the market tomorrow - secure in the knowledge that she is his wife. She wants him and she makes no effort to hide this as she looks up at him. She reaches out her hand, shaking slightly and takes his. Rather than moving to his room, as they'd discussed, she guides him up the stairs to hers. "Jean?" He asks, not confused so much as cautious.  
"I… I want this room to be a happy one Lucien." She doesn't have to explain. Lucien understands. This was the room she hid in and retreated to during Mei Lin's return. This was the room he would make excuses to walk past but never enter. This was Jean Beazley's room and she wants to give her this. They begin to make love - their first time in their house. There's a weight to their actions. A heaviness. Each movement has a meaning, is an offering, a prayer until they've properly exorcized their demons, their past desires. He had forgotten the countless intentions between lovers - it had been so long since he had to use his body to speak a language other that straightforward desire or release. It was like wrapping his tongue around foreign words he hadn't spoken in so long. Marriage, he thinks, curling up in the warm spot between Jean's shoulder and neck, was a curious adventure he was looking forward to.

* * *

She wakes up first - he hasn't moved since he first fell asleep, curled at her side. She cannot help but love him even more when he's like this - she feels as if she can protect him from every dark and evil thing in the world. It's silly, she knows he's seen and experienced more than she will ever imagine - but she will do everything she can to make sure that never happens again. She has lost one good man, she won't lose another. She drops a kiss on his forehead and eases herself out from under him. She catches sight of her reflection in the mirror and she can't help but look - has she really changed so much in two months or was it all in her mind? Will being Jean Blake ever be as natural as being Jean Beazley? She forces herself to look away and finds her battered pink robe and throws it on, thankful for Charlie's departure this night. She makes her way down to the kitchen where she puts on a pot of tea and opens the fridge to examine the contents. She's ravenous now, having worked up an appetite, and suspects he'll wake up the same. She's been ravenous for a while - even her clothes have reflected this - needing to pick up a new skirt while traveling, unable to fit into some of the ones she brought with her. She begins to slice bread, ham, tomatoes for sandwiches - she can hear Lucien stirring upstairs. She'll have to do a proper trip tomorrow, her mind already whirling with what needs to be done for the house - but for now, this will do. This is all she needs.


	8. Things Known & Things Unknown

The kettle begins to whistle - the piercing noise startling her, causing her hand dropping to her stomach. That's when it hits her. She can't be, can she? She's a grandmother already, she's too old (well, old enough anyways). She's meant to start the change - and yet… as she runs her hand over the slight curve that wasn't there before, she knows it's true. It had been so long since she had felt it with her sons but it's suddenly all so familiar, how could she not have seen it? "Jean?" Lucien stands at the hatch of the kitchen watching her, "Are you alright?"  
"Yes. Yes." She twists her startled face into a smile and moves the kettle off the flame, the kitchen silent once more. God, what is she going to do? She jumps once more, feeling his hand heavy on her waist. When did he move over to her? "Jean?" She wants to hold it in. It's too heavy, too soon, too much. They'd only just returned from their honeymoon, what, one or two months ago and still learning how to adjust to life as husband and wife here in the real world. How would Lucien take the news of a child? How would she? How would they cope? The town gossips would have a feast upon this news - implying the wedding was rushed and - she closes her eyes for a moment in hopes of blocking it all out. A child. A tiny, perfect child - one with Lucien's smile and her eyes. A child. Another chance for the both of them - this time together. Her heart falls - what would their children think? Jack and Christopher Jr and Lei - would they feel replaced? How could they not? "Jean?" He asks again, dropping a kiss to the crook of her neck, gently guiding her hand off the handle of the kettle.  
"I'm pregnant Lucien." The words come out unexpected but she's unable to hold them in. With them out of her, she's able to breathe once again.  
"Are you sure?"  
"Fairly certain." She begins to move about the once more, stepping out of Lucien's grip and gathers the teapot, the tea cups.  
"But how?"  
"You're a doctor Lucien, I'll leave that one to you." She snaps, pouring water over the leaves in the pot. She's missed her house. She's so glad to be home.  
"A baby, Jean? We're going to have a baby?" He sees her avoiding him and by now he knows not to take it personally. He's learned enough about his wife to know that when she's upset, she needs to be moving or doing something to distract herself. Stillness for Jean Blake was only for moments of rare peace. He moves in front of her, forcing her to look at him, before he drops his hand and runs it over her belly. "Hello little one." He begins to speak softly, moving his eyes from his wife's stomach to her eyes - there's so much there he can see but he can't quite read. "Can we call her … I don't know, after a flower. Rose? No, not Rose - Lily?"  
"Lucien - it's a little soon for naming her, isn't it?"  
"I don't think so." He grins at her, "A baby. You're not…pleased?" His smile dies as he takes in her stony face.  
"I don't know what I am. This, this wasn't what I pictured when we married, Lucien. And our children -" Her mind races, they were both only just now starting to mend years of damage - imagined and real.  
"Will be happy for us."  
"Will they Lucien?" She steps around him and stops, not certain where to go. She had poured the tea, made the toast, plated breakfast…and now all she wants to do is hide. "Sit down Jean, please?" He pulls out her chair and at a loss for what else to do, she sits. He drags his chair over and joins his wife, taking her hand in his and peering at her. He envies women for their ability to bring life into this world, to create life, but he knows enough not presume that all women want or relish the opportunity to do so - there's so much he and Jean never spoke about during their unconventional courtship - children being one of them. "Let's take this one step a time, hmmmm? How do you feel about this?"  
"Lucien I - Charlie, good morning!" She practically jumps up from the table. They'll have to continue this at a later time.

She avoids him most of the day, smiling and greeting his patients and showing them patients in and out of the room. Lunch is waiting for him, covered by a tea towel on the table while she heads out to the market. Dinner is forcefully jovial, with Rose joining them and Charlie. It's not until the young couple head out, Charlie walking Rose home, taking an extra meal to Matthew, that they're left alone. "Jean," Lucien asks, coming up behind her as she finishes the dishes, his hands on her shoulders, "Are you alright?"  
"Of course Lucien, why wouldn't I be?"  
"I don't know."  
"Perfectly fine." She turns off the tap, her work done, and wipes her and on her apron. "Can you…?" She nods towards her back, and wordlessly he unknots the apron and hangs it off the oven handle. By the time he turns around, she's already out of the room. He sighs, unsure of how to proceed. It wasn't like this with Mei Lin - he finds he doesn't compare them as often as he thinks he would - there was happiness and joy there. Yes there was some uncertainty but nothing like this. He cannot understand why she'd be so…scared. She's going to be an incredible mother. How could she not be? He can't wait to meet this little girl (and he's convinced it's a little girl, with Jean's curls and her sharp tongue and her little smile despite herself). A noise above him catches his attention and he heads up, heart heavy, not certain of what he can say or do to make it right.

He makes his way up the stairs - and despite the closed door to her former room, he knows Jean is there. "Jean?" There's a silence as she stops moving. "Jean, I…don't know what to say. Help me?"  
"Lucien." She moves to the other side of the glass. "I'm sorry."  
"For what?" His heart aches and he wishes he could enter, but won't cross the threshold unless she wants him to. She's still his fiercely independent Jean. "What are you sorry for Jean?"  
"Lucien…" She doesn't know what to do, what to say. "I'm scared and I don't know why." All that separates them is the thin pane of glass and her fear. "Jean…"  
"Lucien… what if…" He waits for her, longing to take her in his arms. "What if…what if I'm no good as a mother?"  
"Jean, Jean, Jean… You're going to be great. We're going to be great parents - together."  
"What if we're not?"  
"We will be. We are going to give this child, our child, our little girl so much love. All the love we -" his voice cracks, "We will love her so much."  
"You keep saying her. Why do you keep saying her?"  
"Can't you see a little girl running around here, Jean?"  
"Lucien, we already have children. I have children, and I failed them. I failed my children -"  
"No Jean, no! You did your best. We did our best with what circumstance gave us. We did the very best we could. Jean, you raised two boys, two good and kind and strong boys into good and kind and strong men, singlehandedly. You loved as much and as best as you could - and still do. You were an incredible mother and you'll be one to our little one. She'll have two brothers and a sister who will love her."  
"Will they?"  
"They will. Jean - our children - we raised them on our own. You raised Christopher and Jack by yourself, Lei was taken - we were on our own. We aren't on our own anymore Jean - and I'll be damned if I ever leave either of you. And -" He cuts off her expected response "If anything were to happen, you, you aren't alone. You will have Matthew and Charlie and Mattie. Agnes and Alice. You won't be alone. Not ever again." The door finally opens and there stands his wife. His wife. He hasn't tired of that word yet. "Jean." He smiles despite himself and takes the slight nod of her head as permission to enter, to take her in his arms. "It's alright to be afraid, I am too." He confesses, murmuring in her ear. "I didn't have much practice the last time. I'll need your help. I'm certain I'll let her stay up late in the evening or give her too many sweets after dinner."  
"Lucien no," She pulls back from him, frowning slightly, "It'll ruin her appetite."  
"See, I need your help. We'll need to do this together Jean."  
"Together then." She rises slightly on her toes to place a kiss on her husband's lips.

They make their way downstairs and prepare for bed. Neither husband nor wife can help but run their hands over the slight but growing swell of her belly as she changes into the flowing, silky nightgowns - so different from her past utilitarian ones. She supposes you need less clothes, less warmth when sharing your bed with someone. "I'd like to give you a full check up tomorrow, Jean. Or…" He grins, nipping a path from her ear down her neck, "If you'd like, I can give you one now."  
"Lucien," She warns, his name almost a childish sing-song, the weight lifted from her. "Bed."  
"Gladly."  
"Not what I meant."  
"No?"  
"Well…" She helps undress her husband before her, unbuttoning his waistcoat, untucking his shirt.

They are on the cusp of sleep some time later - nightgowns and limbs and pyjamas tangled together - when Lucien speaks, his eye not on his wife in his arms, but rather the small wooden horse, Jean's wedding gift to him on the bedside table. "What do you think of turning the studio into a nursery?"  
"Lucien?" She shifts to try to see her husband, but he holds her tighter.  
"I think…it would be only right." Silence for a moment. "We're going to be parents Jean." His voice is full of awe and she wonders how she could've ever feared his reaction.  
"If it's a girl -"  
"She will be."  
"If it's a girl," Jean continues, smiling in the dark at her husband's insistence, "I was thinking of Genevieve." She raises his hand to her lips and places a quick kiss before returning it back to her waist.  
"Really?"  
"It would be only right."


End file.
